Detective Holmes, Doctor Watson, and Young Girl Clawsford
by whateversuitsyou
Summary: [Under Revision] Amelia Clawsford had to fall into the hole. She had to think it was a dream. When she somehow ends up at Sherlock world, she thinks it's just a dream. Only it's not, and she manages to get the attention of the consulting detective. What will she do when she ends up living in 221B Baker Street with the two men, and what will she do when she knows the plot already?
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Did you get everything you need, sweetie?" shouted Mrs. Clawsford from the kitchen.

"Almost! I can't find my swiss army knife, though." Amelia Clawsford shouted back.

Amelia Clawsford, or Amy for short, was a 14 year old girl living in Miami. She skipped 2 grades, so she's a sophomore. Her high school is taking the entire grade level on a field trip to London, England, or the World of Sherlock Holmes, as Amy liked to call it. She had been preparing for the field trip since months before, watching all three seasons of BBC Sherlock more than 5 times and reading the original series at least 10 times. Right now, she had the whole TV series memorized and the overall plot and timeline of the original series.

She ran out of her bedroom, practically transporting herself downstairs in one huge jump, and barged into the kitchen, her flaring red hair already messy.

"Mum, I can't find my knife! Where'd I put it? Where'd I put it?" she whined, pacing back and forth incessantly.

"Check the top drawer beside the TV. Really, how many times do I have to tell you to put the things in their correct spot!" Mrs. Clawsford said, sighing in annoyance as she continued making bacon and eggs.

"Ah, found it. Now my survival kit is fully packed."

She really shouldn't have said that out loud, because Mrs. Clawsford disapproved of her "survival kit" and the two always had a bit of a verbal sparring every time Amy mentioned it.

"Amy, don't tell me you're going to bring that ridiculously huge backpack packed with useless trash to London!"

"Of course I'm bringing it, mum. It has everything I need."

"No it doesn't. You have, what, a pair of latex gloves in it? Tweezers? A whole screwdriver kit with various sizes and shapes? Arts and crafts supplies? Plastic zip lock bags? Why do you need all those anyways?"

"I've told you before, they're all mandatory! Besides, you forgot a couple of glass bottles."

"Amelia."

"Fine, I'm sorry for talking back to you, but I'm still bringing it."

"Do whatever you want, I don't even care."

Amy then settled on the couch, checking all the clothes she'd packed the night before. She had a couple of sweatshirts with the same yellow duck on the middle, some tank tops, a bunch of t-shirts, a couple of jeans and shorts, and underwear. She was planning on buying more if she needed to in London.

"Eat your breakfast!" Mrs. Clawsford called out from the kitchen as she served the food.

"Yay bacon! And eggs!" exclaimed Amy, seeing her favorite breakfast menu on the table.

"Your passport and ticket are on the table beside the door, and you have the credit card, right?" the worried mom asked, always the one to double check. "And did you check what you packed?"

"Okay, and yes, I did check my suitcase. Thanks for the credit card, by the way." mumbled Amy, not even looking up from her plate.

"Yeah, now hurry, you'll be late." said mom, looking at her watch.

Amy checked her watch, then gasped. "What! Oh dear lord, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME! I'll be late, I'll go now, see ya mum!" she hollered as she ran out the dining room, grabbed her more than baggy jacket with lots of pockets along with the backpack and the suitcase, and had to make a turn to grab her passport and ticket.

"Taxi!" she yelled, waving a hand at the taxi nearby.

She hopped on after throwing everything in the backside trunk, then told the driver to go to the airport ASAP. The driver had apparently sensed her distress and sped through the streets, ignoring almost all the red lights.

When they reached the airport, she grabbed her things and rushed in. Apparently, she was still early, as there was no one there.

"Why...I didn't even get to finish my bacon!" grumbled Amy to herself as she stomped her food ever so lightly in annoyance.

She took out her phone and dialed her friend, Melissa. When she didn't pick up, Amy tried calling Joe. After a series of frustrated grunts and frantically calling every single sophomore in her contacts and getting nothing, she began to truly worry.

'Now, why aren't these people picking up...I'm most certain I didn't get the wrong date and time, and none of the teachers are here. What's going on!'

She wandered around, looking for her teachers, when a door suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She was pretty sure it was just a blank wall minutes before, and now there was a door. A door that said 'Authorized Personnel Only. Keep Out.'

Automatically, Amy pressed her ears to the door, and when she heard nothing, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it was open, and with a quick look around her to make sure none of the security guards were looking at her, she stepped in, dragging everything with her.

She shut the door and took her self - charging piggy flashlight out of her jacket pocket. She wasn't sure what was in here, but it was definitely cold, so it definitely wasn't a tropical animal. Her grip on the trunk tightened as she walked around, still finding nothing but empty shelves. And then came the hole.

She HAD to see the damn door. She HAD to be curious of what was inside. She HAD to roam around with nothing but a flashlight in a pitch black room. She HAD to not see the hole on the ground. She HAD to not be quick enough to stop herself from falling. She JUST HAD to, didn't she.

And Amelia fell.


	2. NOTICE

Um…..Please don't yell at me:( I know, I sort of ditched all of my stories for quite a while. I'm really sorry for those of you who waited, I really am. I was too busy with my schoolwork, and I still am. BUT it's not like I'll ditch it forever, so yeah….I'm revising the chapters right now, and it's not going as quickly as I would like it to be, and it'll take a while, as I can't just quit studying. I'm so so sorry, really, truly, sincerely. I promise, I will come back with the revised chapters, and I'll continue writing new chapters as much as I can. I beg of your forgiveness, not that I really have anything to say if you don't, but… I really don't know how these apology letter/notice things should go, and I have no idea how to even write this without sounding like…me, but I really am sorry, people….


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Tiny Sherlock

Amelia was falling. And to her surprise, she enjoyed falling. She liked the rush of adrenaline in her veins, the sense of imminent danger, and the howling in her ears. What she didn't like about everything was that she was going to have to land, and it was going to hurt, if not kill her.

Thud.

Amelia's eyes were shut, and she was ready for the pain, and it took her by surprise when she couldn't feel pain. It was uncomfortable, yes, because apparently she fell on top of both her trunk and her backpack. But it didn't hurt. She opened her eyes, adjusting to the sudden light. She was pretty sure she was alive, and she was also sure that she was not at some underground secret facility to lock up criminals. But she wasn't so sure if everything was real.

Then she saw it. A building. A door. A 221B door. On Baker Street. And two men walking out of the door. One tall, one short. The tall one with a dark blue scarf, the short one with a black leather jacket.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, all in costumes. With no cameras around.

Amy instinctively hid herself behind the nearest bush, clutching tightly to her backpack and trunk as she looked through the branches. The two men were trying to get a cab. Martin Freeman had his cane, which meant this was still Season 1 Episode 1.

If they were refilming the episode, why are there no cameras around? And why would they be refilming the episode? Nothing really made sense, from the painless fall to...well, this, and Amy decided that it was a dream. She could do anything in her dream, right?

Then she saw it. Saw them. Her hands. They were...tiny. Not exactly the chubby baby hands, but tiny nonetheless. And skinny, too. She looked down at her body and couldn't help but gape at what she was seeing. Her entire body was tiny. Along with her clothes. So was the trunk. The only thing that didn't reduce in size was her backpack.

Sherlock was trying to catch a cab when he saw it. Her. A tiny girl, probably 5, but short and skinny enough to pass for 4. Baggy jacket with lots of pockets, purple sweatshirt, tight fitting jeans. Skinny jeans, they were called, he heard Molly mention them once. She had a trunk and a backpack too big for her. It was as big as her entire body. And she was looking at him. At them. Him and Watson. Then she looked at her own body and seemed surprised. No, shocked would be the better term. Apparently, the girl was shocked to see herself. Different clothes, maybe? No. Different environment? No. He couldn't figure her out.

She was more of the tomboy type, adventurous and all, Sherlock figured. She was either going to a different place, or just came from a different place. Her family wasn't poor, since all her clothes and bags were brand items, even if they looked casual. She had round, circular glasses that covered half of her tiny face. She was alone, and she wasn't afraid, which was very unusual for a kid her age. Skinny, very skinny, probably at least 15 pounds underweight. And for some reason, he was intrigued.

Amy looked up, and saw him walking towards her. She ducked, cursing to herself as she tried to hide from the consulting detective, which isn't the easiest task to do when you have a trunk and a huge backpack with you, and the person you're hiding from is Sherlock Holmes.

He picked her up and turned her around, observing as if she was an object. John hurried over and yelled, "Sherlock, what are you doing! Let her down!"

Amy crossed her arms and pulled up a very bored face. "How may I be of help, oh-so-very-polite sir?" she asked, her voice drenched in sarcasm.

Sherlock frowned, and tried to turn her upside down, when John snatched her from his hand and put her down.

"Sherlock! You can't just go and hold a baby up and observe her!" he exclaimed, shocked at his flatmate's ignorance.

"Yeah, Sherlock, you can't just do that." Amy said with an indignant scoff. She couldn't believe this. Her dream was clearly the craziest thing in the world, and she was so writing a fanfiction after she woke up. "And I'm not a baby."

"Sherlock, let's go, don't you have a place to be? I'm sorry, kid, he's sort of rude, but I don't think he knows." John kneeled in front of Amy, petting her head.

"I'm not a dog, don't pet me. And it's fine, cuz I'm probably just as rude as him." Amy said, retying her messy red hair.

"Who are you." stated Sherlock. Yeah, he stated, not asked. And it definitely wasn't polite, either.

"Who're you?" Amy asked back, staring right into the blue eyes of the consulting detective.

"Sherlock, I-" John started, only to be cut off by Amy and Sherlock both glaring at him.

"John, just shut up for a moment."

"Sir, please don't interrupt a conversation."

Then it happened. Amy grinned widely, maybe looking a bit foolish by doing so. And to everyone's surprise, Sherlock's lips twitched upwards, and although it wasn't really a smile, it was.

Sherlock's phone beeped, making him realize that he was on a case.

"Come on, John, we're going. Now." he ordered, turning around and catching a cab.

John looked confused and frustrated at the same time, and followed the tall man with a frown. Amy, looking at all this, decided to follow along and ditched her trunk on Mrs. Hudson's doorstep before running to the cab. The cabbie, thinking that she was with the men, waited for her. Of course, Sherlock got frustrated and might have insulted him for not being fast, but he didn't see the girl climb up the front seat. He was too busy thinking, and Amy was really small, too.

After a brief moment of peace, Sherlock broke the silence. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" asked John, seizing the opportunity to finally get some answers.

The two kept on talking while Amy just sat in silence, smiling to herself. This was officially the best dream ever.

After a long, boring cab ride, Sherlock and John hopped off in front of what looked like a house.

'A Study in Pink, the very first episode. I hope I don't wake up for the entire three seasons.' thought Amy as she silently got off to go after them.

When she tried to go in with the two, she was stopped by an annoying Donovan.

"Hey, girl, what'cha doing here? Where's your mommy?" she asked in such a sick voice that Amy almost threw up.

"I'm sorry, I'm here with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." Amy replied as politely as she could, which really wasn't easy.

"Oh, well, you're not allowed in here. This place is for the big people like us, not little kids. You can wait out here, and if you behave, I'll give you a candy."

"Hey, what're you doing here? Did you follow us here?" John asked, now kneeling in front of Amy.

"Yeah, duh, why else would I be here? Besides, I'm surprised you didn't hear me get on the same cab." Amy remarked with a frown.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, earning a glare and an annoyed grunt from the detective.

"John, before you ask, yes, I heard her get on, and no, I didn't make her get off." Sherlock said before John could reprimand him for anything.

"But Sherlock, she-" John was cut off by Sherlock looking directly down at the girl and asking her name. Rudely, of course.

"Its A..Allison. Allison Winterwoods." Amy replied. She decided to go with a pseudonym, in case there was an Amelia Clawsford living in America in this world as well.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock told her before asking why she followed them.

Without answering him, Amy swiftly turned to Donovan, carefully hiding a smirk. "Did you have fun last night?"

"What? What do you mean?" she asked, more than slightly confused.

"Well, you clearly didn't make it home last night." Amy replied, now failing miserably at hiding her smirk.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at that and stared at the tiny girl who barely reached his knees. "Go on." he demanded, his eyes sparkling with interest.

Amy then turned her head towards Anderson and said, "His deodorant."

"My deodorant?" asked Anderson, equally confused as Donovan.

With one last look at poor old John who was probably losing it inside his head, Amy began to explain. "Well, the lady here smells just like your deodorant, and it's men's, so she must've stayed overnight at your house. Since you have a wedding ring, you must be married, so is your wife away for long, then? And also, that lady scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees. Did she spill orange juice all over your floor during your little sleepover while your wife was gone or something?"

Everyone just stared at the child with stunned expressions, and of course, Sherlock was grinning madly by now. Donovan and Anderson kept on looking back and forth at each other, then decided to insult Sherlock because they can't possibly say something harsh to a little girl who doesn't even know what things mean.

Of course, Amy knew exactly what had happened last night between the two sergeants, but Allison didn't. She decided that she would be 7 years old, and Allison Winterwoods had to be believable.

"Freak, what did you do to an innocent child like her?" Donovan said in a disgusted voice.

"Now, I have a case to work on, Sally, so if you'll excuse me." Sherlock was already heading to the door, not even looking at Donovan as he said this. John hurried over to his side, following him quietly, still not able to get things together in his head.

Amy just looked up at Donovan first, then Anderson, and jogged over to Sherlock and John, leaving the stunned officers behind to catch up on what just happened.

When they'd reached the top of the stairs, John flinched slightly at the dead body. Amy watched Sherlock examine the woman quickly but precisely, not missing a single detail. Lestrade started to read out the woman's information, to which Sherlock paid no attention. John just stood there, clueless of what to do.

After Sherlock'd finished looking at the body, he began to list all the things he found out about the woman. John was furiously taking notes, while Lestrade just stood awkwardly, waiting for an explanation.

Amy tugged at Greg's sleeves to make him bend down, then whispered in his ears. "She's left handed because she used her left hand to write Rache. The 'e' is slightly curved up as if she wanted to write more, so it's not the German word for revenge. I think it's Rachel. She's from out of town because there are tiny splash marks at the back of her right leg, indicating she had a suitcase. A rather small one, going by the spread, so she must've intended to stay for a day or two."

Lestrade just looked at Amy and blinked, as if she was some mythical creature that shouldn't exist. Amy continued, ignoring the uncomfortable gaze.

"The back of her coat looks wet, but it seems as if the umbrella's not. The collar of her coat looks wet as well, which means she was in a place where it was heavily raining, with such a strong wind that she couldn't use her umbrella."

Breathing in deeply, Amy went on explaining for Lestrade.

"Her bracelet looks clean, and so do the earrings and the necklace, but the rings are dirty. That must mean she's unhappily married, probably for over 10 years. When Sherlock pulled the ring out, it shone brightly, meaning it's clean on the inside. She took it off all the time, probably for meeting other men."

Just then, Sherlock waved a hand in front of Lestrade, turning his attention back to him. "I was telling you helpful information, and you're not listening." he said, frowning. "I'm not repeating it for you, so you'd better hope Watson took great notes."

"Actually, I think I stopped doing that somewhere in the middle." John popped in, looking at Lestrade apologetically.

Lestrade smiled and said "Oh no, it's fine, this young girl explained everything you said to me, from the conclusions to how you got to them. I think I can believe her, as she did that thing out there with Anderson and Donovan."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and looked quizzically at Amy, who just stood there, arms crossed, with a smirk.

"Well, what did you tell Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, masking the amusement.

"About the suitcase, Rache, and her unhappy marriage." Amy replied, staring right into the icy blue eyes.

"Is that it?" Sherlock demanded, now more than intrigued by this tiny thing.

"Of course not." Amy told him.

"Then do go on. Enlighten us, girl."

"So I will." Amy blinked first, ending the what looked like an endless staring contest. "If you look at her nails, it's clear that she doesn't work with her hands. Professional job, somewhere in the media. Just look at all that pink." She stopped suddenly to check her phone. "Cardiff. She was in Cardiff. It's heavily raining with a strong wind and is only a couple hours away from here, so she's from Cardiff."

She ended with a deep breath, then looked up at Sherlock expectantly. It was a good thing she'd memorized every single detail of the TV series, she thought, as she smiled sweetly.

"Ahem. Stop staring at each other like that for minutes in silence, you two, it's creepy." Lestrade butted in, snapping the two back into their current situation. "And one thing. I didn't find any suitcase. There was no suitcase, so are you two sure about that?"

"Come again?" Sherlock said, not believing his ears.

"I said, there was no suitcase." Lestrade repeated, looking at him for an explanation.

At that, Sherlock began to stomp downstairs shouting for a suitcase, and Lestrade yelled about there not being a suitcase. In the middle of talking to Lestrade, Sherlock's face lit up, and ran out shouting "Pink!" like a madman, leaving John and Amy there.

"Um, Allison, right? Should we..?" John started, unsure of what to say to the tiny, female duplicate of the great detective. To be honest, he was worried that the girl would be like Sherlock in more than one way, even in the arrogant, stand-offish demeanor that infuriated what seemed like everyone.

To John's relief, she was as sweet as chocolate. Amy smiled brightly and took his hand before going outside, asking him to catch a cab.

Amy knew that this was when they were supposed to be kidnapped by Mycroft, and was really looking forward to the meeting. Maybe she'd be able to put her backpack down then, she thought, because her shoulders were aching.

Just as the two were walking, a nearby phone booth began to ring. Amy stopped instantly, tugging on John to go check it out. She was clearly too short to reach the phone, and needed John.

When the two got in the booth and John picked the phone up, at first he frowned, then he frowned some more, and then he turned his head, frowning even more. Amy just smiled and looked outside for a black car. As soon as she saw one pull up, John took her hand and headed to the car, opening the door for her like a true gentleman.

After a long but comfortable car ride, they ended up in what looked like an empty warehouse. Of course, it wasn't empty. Mycroft was waiting inside. As John walked up to Mycroft, Amy took her chance and hid behind a wall, where she could listen to their conversation clearly but couldn't be seen.

The talk was longer than Amy would've liked, but hey, she wasn't complaining. It gave her time to think about things, too. As she slumped down on the ground, her back against the wall, she realized how much her shoulders actually hurt. Then she came to a realization that her shoulders hurt. They hurt. Something hurt. Nothing was supposed to hurt, she was in a dream, right?

While she was in her own world, confused, the two men had stopped talking, and it was John's footsteps that snapped her back to reality. She quickly ran out to where the two were standing, and chased after Mycroft.

"Wait!" Amy shouted, loud enough for Mycroft to hear but not quite enough for John to hear.

Mycroft turned back, smiling creepily. "I was wondering where the little one went, dear. Where have you been?"

"It's Allison, and I know who you are." Amy said boldly, her backpack weighing her down once again.

"Alright, Allison, who do you think I am?" he asked, walking towards her.

"You're someone who really cares about Sherlock." Amy said, smiling. "So give me your number. And your name. I'll call you when Sherlock needs you." she said, although she knew Mycroft would know all about Sherlock even if she didn't contact him.

"Rude much? But sure." Mycroft said, still smiling. Apparently, the older Holmes had a soft spot for cute little gingers. Creepy, but handy. "I'm Mycroft."

After the phone number exchange, Mycroft gave Amy a lift to 221B Baker Street.


End file.
